


Fade to Black

by queervillain



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Curse of Strahd, Cute, F/F, Fluff, Spoilers, Tieflings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 07:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18567037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queervillain/pseuds/queervillain
Summary: A series of short ficlets about Constance and Temerity as their relationship progresses. Each takes place after a text-RP I did with Constance's player, hence the title.





	Fade to Black

_A quiet_ ** _thunk_** _echoes out from the back room of the manor, the only sound in the now-slumbering household. The forge is well lit, embers smoldering in the hearth, and Constance's lantern flickering discreetly on the workbench._ _  
_ _Constance herself brandishes a small hammer, striking down at an unlucky fork pinned to the anvil, splitting its head clean off with another_ ** _thunk._** _She adds the head to the nearly-full crucible next to her before sitting heavily onto the bench, exhausted._

Temerity clears her throat from the doorway. "Couldn't sleep either, huh?"

Constance seizes up for a moment as the hammer slams onto the floor.  
"T....Temerity. Good... good evening. No, I felt like getting a head start on tomorrow." She gestures at the crucible.  "I'm almost done breaking down the silver. It's, uh, actually kind of fun. Cathartic."

Temerity peers at the silverware and broken up coins waiting to be melted. "And this is gonna be enough for that big hunk of metal?" She gestures to Presea's axe, still leaned against the corner.

"Probably." Constance says vacantly. Her eyes droop shut for a moment as she breathes. She starts, sitting up slightly. "What are you doing up, anyhow? It's not often I get company during these hours."

Temerity's tail swipes across the floor, "Just can't sleep, I guess," she watches Constance doze, smiling a little. "You sure you're okay to be around this much fire?"

"Hm? The fire?" She casts a glance over to the forge's mouth, still curling with heat.  "I'm fine. I've been around forges before. Just not for a pretty long time. Besides, I need to keep it up until I'm done with the silver. Then I can get.... some..." Her sentence is broken by a quiet yawn. "Mm. Sleep."  
Constance blinks. "Do you drink coffee?"

"Yeah, I guess. Not habitually. You wanna brew some?" Temerity replies. She’s unsure if she’s ever had coffee.

"It'll help me keep my eyes open." Constance says, stifling another yawn.

"Then let's do that. Don't wanna wake up to singed dwarf." Temerity pauses, "I don't actually know how to make coffee."

With a sense of habit about her, Constance grabs her knapsack from the corner, picking out a few tin cups and a small ceramic urn bound with strings. Picking off her heavy gloves, she sets about brewing a cup over the dull heat of the embers.  
"It's pretty easy, once you're used to it. I've... I've made it a lot, in case you couldn't tell." Constance prods the tins with a pair of tongs as the water starts to simmer and steam.

Enraptured, Temerity watches the process, playing idly with a hot coal. "Where'd you get the beans? Where do coffee beans even come from?"

Constance gives an unsure glance, biting her tongue. "The... the ground?"

Temerity laughs, "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Oh, gosh, you weren't kidding." Constance pinches one between her fingers, a small, tough little thing, charcoal black. "These are actually dwarf-grown. They're a lot sturdier than surface breeds, and they're a lot stronger. I grew up with them, and human-grown beans just don't taste the same, honestly..."

"Huh," Temerity smells the ground beans, "they smell really good. Not that I'm any great judge of coffee."

Constance smiles sheepishly, staring into the urn. She looks up and puffs up a little.

"Well, I happen to be a pretty good judge. And let me tell you, this-" She reaches out, snagging a tin from the hearth. "Is good."  
She hands it to Temerity, expectantly.

Temerity takes the tin cup and drinks deeply. "Ohh, it really is!"

"Wait, really?" Constance looks a little dumbfounded. "Most people find it really strong and... kinda’ gritty. I mean, I like it, but... really?"

"Mm! I think the last time I had coffee I bought it from a street bum. Actually, that might have just been some really bad water. I was pretty out of it."

"Maybe I've never had coffee before..." Temerity ponders.

Constance takes a sip of coffee instead of responding to the anecdote, looking to the far corner.

Temerity keeps drinking the coffee, and looks into the forge, zoning out staring at the flames.

After minutes of silence, Constance blurts out, "I'm glad I made coffee. I mean, made you first, made you, your, first... coffee."

The crucible full of broken silverware is suddenly very interesting to Constance.

"I'm glad too," Temerity smiles, "it  _ is _ tasty. Like a stout ale, or something sweet, even though it's not. Sweet that is."

She notices Constance's shifted attention. "Is there something wrong with the silver?" She leans over the dwarf to inspect the crucible as well.

Constance catches her breath for a moment, pivoting back towards Temerity.  "N-nae. I'm just... I don't wanna work on it any more tonight."

"Oh," she's a little taken aback at the sudden closeness of Constance's face, "I guess we should put the forge out then, yeah?"

There’s a pause before Constance replies "Nah. Not yet."

\--

The pair sit a moment, Temerity watching the flickering firelight bounce off Constance’s pale cheek. She’s so close that she can see the variations in the blue of her eyes. Temerity thinks they look like the overcast sky at midsummer, not yet a thunderstorm.

Constance is the first to turn away, flushing about her ears. “Ah, the uh… the coffee will get cold soon.”

Temerity steps over the bench to sit beside Constance, and they both take a simultaneous sip. The silence that falls over the forge isn’t awkward, but warm. A silence shared by two friends who’ve faced more life-threatening events in the last week than most experience their entire lives.

After setting her mug down, Constance glances up at Temerity. She feels a nervous flutter in her stomach as she takes a breath in and realizes she can smell her. The closest thing Constance can compare it to is the soft, sweet smell of a person mixed with the sharp notes of a woodfire. Tentatively, she reaches out a hand and places it over Temerity’s.

What strikes her most about Temerity’s hand is that it doesn’t pull away. In fact, Temerity almost seems to relax at Constance’s touch.

“I-is this okay?” Constance asks.

Temerity gives a surprised laugh, “Of course! I very much enjoy it, actually.” She twists her hand up so their palms are together and gives Constance a little squeeze, then grins. “Anything more than this will cost you, though.”

Constance feels the unnatural warmth of Temerity’s fingers in hers. She can tell that Temerity is as exhausted as she is, that their travels have taken their toll. She squeezes back and leans her head against Temerity’s shoulder.

The weight of Constance feels safe and steady on Temerity’s side. She looks down at the feather pendant around her neck. The raven feather shimmers in the light of the forge. She notices it’s nearly the same color as Constance’s hair. Temerity lets her head rest on Constance’s, burying her nose in that long, black hair.

Constance wakes, her eyes hazy and her neck cricked. They had both fallen asleep sitting upright on the bench, but when Constance woke she found herself laying half-atop Temerity’s side. Temerity herself still sleeps soundly, her tail twitching every so often against the dirt floor. The forge has long since burned down to coals.

When a few half-hearted shakes don’t wake her, Constance sighs before hoisting Temerity onto her shoulders. Though Constance is stronger than she appears, the height difference makes carrying Temerity awkward.

They make their way, slowly, to the second floor of the house. Temerity’s tail drags on the ground behind them, making quiet  _ thumps _ on the steps. Constance pushes the door to Temerity’s room open. Considering they’ve only been at the winery two days, Temerity’s made a messy home of the guest room already. Her gear is strewn about, her journal lies open atop her grimoire, and a few articles of clothing hang from the bedframe.

Constance wonders to herself how Temerity manages to fit so many outfits in her pack as she lays the tiefling down, attempting to avoid the skirt of a dress draped across the headboard. She moves to stand up, leaving Temerity resting in bed, but is stopped by two arms wrapped around her shoulders. Temerity sleepily mumbles something, pulling at Constance, who leans closer to hear.

“Stay?”

The thought of staying wrapped up in Temerity’s arms all night makes Constance’s chest feel tight with nerves. What if something were to happen and she wasn’t awake to protect the group? What if she was somehow still afflicted with dormant lycanthropy and falling into deep sleep revealed a monster? What if Strahd himself came to the winery to wreak havoc? She grips at the blankets beneath her as she imagines situations of escalating danger.

As if she’d sensed the tension, Temerity cracks her eyes open, revealing slivers of gold that look up at Constance wearily. “C’mere.”

And with just the slightest pull from the arms around her, the worry melts from Constance’s mind, and she slides into bed with Temerity as though it were the most natural thing in the world. They fall asleep in an embrace, facing each other. It’s the soundest sleep either has had since coming to Barovia.


End file.
